


On the Allures of Insufrible Women

by Quintzel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione likes dragons :), Slow Burn, loosely Christmas themed (eventually)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:40:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27840898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quintzel/pseuds/Quintzel
Summary: One year after the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione Granger is returning to the school not as a student, but as a professor. She expects a normal, productive school year; However, our young protagonist failed to anticipate the added complication of her new colleague, Draco Malfoy. From school dances to near death encounters, these two seem to be drawn together in every situation. And what’s worse, Hermione soon becomes absolutely convinced that Malfoy must be up to something nefarious and illegal.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	1. Out With the Old, In With the New

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Freckles_and_glasses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freckles_and_glasses/gifts).



A warm, delicate breeze broke the blanket of tranquility that had settled over the Romanian mountains. The sun was peeking shyly through the forest boughs, and even so early in the day, the summer weather was just cool enough to tolerate. Thus, Hermione was swiftly accumulating a thin line of sweat over her brow as she trotted further still down the slightly overgrown path. She hummed a carefree tune, harmonizing with the birdsong and the babbling of a nearby creek. It was a particularly gorgeous August morning at the reserve, and she felt a surge of gratefulness for this final gift from her newfound home. This was the memory she would carry with her as she departed, one of distinct fondness for the time she had spent here.  
She released a small hum as she reached her destination - a large opening in the mountainside, gaping into a cavernous space within the earth. Raising two hands to her mouth, Hermione whistled shrilly at the cave’s entrance. She waited for one beat, then two, and all at once her vision was filled with flashes of green and glimmers of grassy yellows, bearing down on her and surrounding her entire being in a tornado of wind and vibrancy and volume. Laughing to herself, Hermione allowed the dragon’s wings to push her against its belly in a sort of embrace.  
“How are we today, Stella dear?” Cooed Hermione, wriggling free from her much-larger companion’s crushing grasp and taking a few precautionary steps backward.  
A deep sound emanated from the beast’s throat, resembling a cross between a throaty growl and a contented purr. Subconsciously readjusting the waistband of her jeans, Granger nodded in understanding.  
“I see, and how’s baby-Stella coming along?”  
Hermione had never been quite sure if dragons could comprehend human speech. There was no denying that they were shockingly intelligent creatures, but just how far that intelligence stretched remained a mystery to the woman. However, Stella seemed to get the gist of what Hermione was asking. The emerald green beast’s gaze slid lazily towards the interior of the cave as if inviting her human counterpart inside for a quick chat. Ever so slowly, Hermione eased forward a few steps, watching Stella’s reaction with a trained eye. When the dragon made no move to stop her, Hermione strolled into the depths of the living space, muttering a lumos to light her way. Stella’s looming figure followed close behind.  
Several hundred yards later, the pair reached a nest of sorts, composed of a medley of logs, large rocks, and tree boughs. Hermione’s eyes slid to the large object nestled in the center, and she was flooded with a sense of warmth. It pained her to think that she would not get to witness the hatching of Stella’s little dragonet, but such things could not be avoided. Her eyes pricked with a threat of tears even as she hastily ran through a visual examination of the egg, searching for any signs of trouble or even cracks. The oblong, greenish egg was free of any defects, just as it had been the previous morning, and the morning before that one. Dragon eggs were notoriously difficult to damage without the proper tools and strength, but even so, the reserve was in the habit of keeping on the safe side of things. After all, it was difficult enough to coax up the population of the Longhorns without added complications that they hadn’t prepared for.  
Turning to the scaled head that had been lowered to level with Hermione’s body, the young witch bobbed her head up and down just the slightest bit, an affirmation to the unspoken question - ‘is everything as it should be, Hermione dearest?’. Stella returned the gesture, and a sense of reciprocated warmth and compassion settled snugly between the pair. Sighing, Hermione recalled that she was on a tight schedule and checked the wristwatch on her wand hand. It was just past 7:30 - already time for her to be heading back to the reserve’s welcome center, where she would be meeting Charlie.  
She ripped herself away from the scene before her and turned back towards the entrance of the cavern, being careful not to begin walking until Stella had initiated an exit. Entering a dragon’s home was a fickle thing, especially when said dragon happened to be safeguarding a precious egg, a promise of new life. That’s why Hermione had volunteered to do today’s checkup on Stella, out of goodwill and generosity. After all, most of the other volunteers were fully grown men - exactly the type of human that a dragon mother would respond to with open hostility. Yes, the task had been purely out of the kindness of her own heart, and it certainly had nothing to do with the bittersweet weight that was settling deep in the pit of Hermione’s gut.  
“Stella,” said Hermione as they reached the cave’s opening once more, “I… I have some unfortunate news.”  
Golden eyes narrowed suspiciously at the tiny figure of Hermione Jean Granger.  
The witch sighed heavily, wrenching out the next few words. “Today is my last day at the reserve. I’ve nearly finished my study, you see, and I’ve already been here so much longer than I had originally planned, and McGonagall…” Hermione trailed off, staring at her feet. It wasn’t that she was necessarily heartbroken over the fact that her time in Romania was coming to an end. That had always been in the cards. She had arrived here almost a year ago knowing that this was not a long term situation. No, what was truly eating away at her was that she was finally being forced to return to reality. Her little bubble of blue skies and relief from the media, of rolling fields and new friendships… It was fading into the limelight as Hermione confronted the ugly truth that it was high time that she emerged from her hiding place and face the world head-on like the Gryffindor that she was.  
Hermione was snapped out of her thoughts by the sound of an indignant snort coming from Stella. Stella was giving her human friend an eye roll that conveyed how completely unimpressed the dragon was, and Hermione giggled a bit at it.  
“Oh, don’t give me that look, you know that it’s past time for me to leave.” It was true, she had been postponing this for months, and she was only now leaving because she had made promises which she had to keep. Another snort from Stella, earning a fond smile from the witch. “I will of course miss you and the other dragons very much, you know. You all have taught me many lessons that I could never have learned out on my own.”  
Stella’s expression softened, and again Hermione found herself wondering just how much of this was making sense to the dragon. Perhaps it was not the words that dragons could pick up on, but the subtleties of tone and body language. That was a far better theory than one of complete comprehension of language.  
“Really though, Stella, I must be hurrying along now. I’m scheduled to depart in a little less than an hour.”  
The emerald green beast didn’t move a muscle, her gaze so heavy that it seemed to pin Hermione down. After a long, tense moment, the girl ripped her eyes away and began shifting in the direction of the trailhead. Stella watched this procession with a distinct expression of disbelief.  
“You will make an amazing mother, I’m sure of it.” The words were almost a whisper, choked with emotion. She had reached the packed dirt of the path now. “Goodbye, Stella dear.”  
The dragon took a few steps in pursuit of Hermione, cooing remorseless as if to say ‘Must you leave? Must you truly?’ Hermione held Stella’s gaze for half a beat before turning away and padding softly through the forest. Two tears rolled down her cheek, one tear wept for the end of something beautiful, and one for the distant promise of something even more beautiful on the horizon.

“You remembered that fancy set of quills we got the other day, didn’t you?”  
Hermione gripped her trunk a little more firmly, feeling somewhat worried about the possibility of losing it on the way over to Britain. She had one end of it balanced against her hip, and her left hand holding the trunk in place. Even after a good half dozen feather-light charms, the trunk was still ridiculously awkward and difficult to manage.  
“Of course, Charlie, it’s in my handbag”  
He jutted his head up and down once, his brow furrowed deeply. “And the self stirring cauldron?”  
“Also in the handbag,” She hummed patiently, trying not to giggle at the amount of stress he was exuding. One would think that Charlie was the one packing up and moving his entire life, rather than Hermione.  
“And you’ve got some actual wizarding clothes with you? I don’t think the faculty’s allowed to wear jeans to class.”  
“Of course I have.” She said primly.  
“Right, right…” And then ensued a string of profanities muttered underneath his breath, along with some other indecipherable phrases. “And what about-”  
“Charlie, really, you must believe me capable of packing my bags for school. I promise I’ve got everything, besides, it’s nearly 8:34.”  
The second eldest Weasley’s eyes landed on a timepiece that was nestled on the far wall of the welcome center. “Bloody hell! Alright, let’s step outside now, grab hold right here…”  
Hermione stepped forward and neatly grasped the end of the broken leg chair, eyeing the piece warily. The fact that European governments used pieces of literal rubbish as Portkeys had always irked her. It screamed laziness and lack of attention to detail within the EU… Perhaps she should start a petition for a more uniform and professional item specifically designed to optimize transportation, it wouldn’t be terribly difficult after all- But no, she reminded herself sternly, she would not meddle in politics. Not for some time. These coming years were her time to recover from the trauma of digging the entire wizarding world out of the grave while she was only a child, the horror of watching friends getting murdered right in front of her eyes. This was her period to invest in herself. Shaking herself from the rabbit trail of thought, Hermione refocused on the face of her wristwatch as Charlie continued his muttered rant.  
“...bollocks, forgotten the letter for Mum, but it’s too la-”  
Hermione’s arm was yanked violently in a Northwestern direction as the leg chair dragged both her and Charlie through space at an impossible rate. Before she could even think to wrap her fingers tighter around the handle of her old and battered school trunk, the journey was over. They were stumbling around on Platform 9 ¾, and she almost face-planted in the desperate scramble to regain solid footing. And worse, she could hardly see anything. Wait, why couldn’t she see anything?  
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, she thought to herself as she realized her mistake. Digging her wand out of the back pocket of her pants, Hermione muttered a plethora of hair taming spells in rapid succession, managing to wrestle the locks back into a somewhat manageable mess before anyone could even stop to stare. She should have thought to tie her hair back before the Portkey went off.  
Charlie was snickering at her, and she shot a warning glare in his direction. “Don’t even start,” she seethed, blushing with embarrassment.  
“Should have seen yourself, ‘Mione.” Charlie was laughing in earnest now. “Couldn’t see your face through all the hair, Merlin.”  
She elbowed him in the side and almost dropped her trunk in the process, but it was worth the yelp of pain from Charlie. Realizing just how childish she was behaving, Hermione swiftly made an effort to collect herself and glanced around to make sure none of the students had just seen that entire transaction. As it turned out, Charlie and Hermione were the least interesting duo on the platform at the moment, as just about everyone had turned their attention to two figures who had emerged from one of the Floo’s that lined the walls of the station. Within seconds, an impressive crowd had gathered round the unsuspecting pair, and snippets of conversation filled the area.  
“Is it really him?”  
“...Harry Potter! I swear I saw him!”  
“But why on earth is he here?”  
“Red-haired one too, can’t remember his name…”  
Hermione grinned in earnest at this, dropped her trunk at Charlie’s feet, and rushed across the platform. “Be right back!” She called over her shoulder, slipping through the crowd with ease. Hermione found it terribly ironic that nobody had recognized her as of yet, though she supposed she couldn’t be too surprised. She had changed a fair bit since the end of the war, and besides, she wasn’t the shining poster child of the Golden Trio. That honor belonged to one Mr. Harry Potter. Squeaking out a few “excuse me”s and “coming through”s as she navigated the thick mob surrounding the boys, Hermione finally found herself face to face with Harry and Ron.  
“Oi look, it’s Hermione!” Exclaimed Ron.  
“Huh?” Grunted Harry, looking up from the forehead that he was signing.  
“Long time, no see, boys,” she breathed slyly, smirking at them like she knew something they didn’t.  
“Long time? It’s been ages, ‘Mione!” And with that, Ron engulfed her in a hug, followed closely by Harry. She laughed, a twinkling and breathless laugh that spoke of genuine mirth. She hadn’t seen them since Christmas.  
“God, I missed you guys.” She said, her voice half-muffled by Harry’s shoulder being pressed into her face. When had he gotten so tall?  
“We missed you too,” Harry assured.  
The trio broke away from the group hug, and Hermione vaguely noticed that the crowd had finally begun to disperse. For this, she was grateful. The witch had always firmly disliked the fact that her war veteran status meant being constantly thrust into the spotlight. Someone was always watching, always judging and making assumptions and gossiping. That had been one of the numerous reasons she had gone on her year-long sojourn to Romania.  
“Charlie’s waiting over in the corner, we better not keep him waiting.” She announced, gesturing toward the farthest removed section of the platform.  
The three made their merry way over, chatting about how their weeks had gone and other unmonumental topics. They had all fallen into the habit of keeping up via frequent letters, as they were all in their own separate worlds: Ron with his career with the Chudley Cannons, Harry just finishing up his auror training, and Hermione still pursuing academia despite everyone having graduated school. Harry did report, much to Hermione’s dismay, that Ginny had gotten caught up in a PR scheme for the Harpies at the last minute, so she couldn’t come to see Hermione off.  
“Charlie, you old bat! You’re still kicking it!” Greeted Ron, clapping his older brother on the back.  
“Oi, watch who you call old, you dingus!” Scoffed Charlie, trapping Ron in a headlock.  
Hermione watched with a look of amusement splayed across her features. It never ceased to amaze her when she remembered how similar the mannerisms of the Weasley brothers were. It was like watching slightly altered mirror images.  
The group settled into easy conversation, and Hermione relished the opportunity to catch up with her best friends in person for the first time in nine months. It wouldn’t have been so long if it weren’t for the increasingly high security at the dragon sanctuary. Early in the year, the dragons at the facility had suffered a series of unfortunate events, compliments of some money hungry mercenaries, and… Well, Hermione had never been told many details about it, but the fact remained that any unnecessary travel in and out of the sanctuary was strictly out of the question. However, she was fairly optimistic about the idea that she would likely have a plethora of chances to meet with her friends over the coming year.  
As Ron rambled on about some girl he’d been seeing recently, Hermione allowed her gaze to wander and take in the young faces of the Hogwarts students. Though it hadn’t been too long since she’d last attended Hogwarts, the young woman was quite shocked to realize that she really didn’t recognize much of the student body. Granted, she had kept fairly busy during her time as a student.  
She had just caught sight of someone she thought looked familiar - the back of a head, a familiar set of robes, and flashes of a pale jawline - when her reverie was interrupted by Harry.  
“All good, Hermione?” He asked, his voice in her ear and just loud enough to be heard. “Charlie’s letters have mentioned that you’ve been better but…”  
Hermione swallowed, her gaze darting to the left in feigned nonchalance. “I’ve improved, yes.” Unsure where to look, she glued her gaze to her feet, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. This was not something she wanted to talk about today, or really ever. In fact, why not just shove it in a corner and try to forget it existed? “You mustn’t worry about me Harry, you know how these things go. And the summer’s been good to me.”  
He nodded minutely, his keen eyes taking her in and seeming to pick up on all the things that she had chosen not to mention. But he said nothing more, he just squeezed her shoulder gently and slipped back into conversation with Ron and Charlie. Several minutes passed before Hermione mustered the strength to lift her eyes from her trainers. She had looked up just in time to notice the worried glance passed between Charlie and Harry, while Ron remained oblivious to the subtleties behind the group’s interactions. Things had been just like this before she left for Romania, with everyone looking at her with so much pity and concern, like her dog had just died or something. She hated it, she hated it so much, because everyone felt so bad for her and no matter how many times she said she was fine, nobody listened. And she wasn’t fine, but nobody was, not after the war. They were all their own special shades of fucked up, so why was she such a special case? Was she weaker than the rest of them? Just thinking about it made Hermione want to scream, but she couldn’t, she wouldn’t, because this was not the time to be getting all worked up. No, now was the time to set a fantastic precedent for the rest of the school term.  
Shortly before nine o’clock, the train whistled to signal that it was time to start boarding. The gathered crowd had been steadily growing over the past twenty minutes, and with them, the volume increased as well. Off to Hermione’s right, a first year girl was nearly sobbing with anxiety over her impending separation from her family. Struggling to hear over the din of hundreds of wizarding families, the group began their farewells. Hermione hugged her friends goodbye, promising to send lots of letters and tell Hagrid hello. When she turned to face Charlie, she stuck out a hand uncertainly. They were technically professional colleagues, so a handshake seemed appropriate.  
“Oh, none of that,” said Charlie, pulling her into a loose hug which she returned gladly. When they had parted, he added, “You will, of course, write to me as well. And for Merlin’s sake, take this bloody cat before it attempts some sort of villainous jailbreak.” He gestured towards Crookshank’s cage, which had been rattling and emitting enraged mews for quite some time.  
Hermione chuckled, charmed the cage to levitate behind her, and waved one last goodbye to the three boys.

Hermione felt distinctly unprepared. Not with the coursework - the moment she had gotten that letter from Headmistress McGonagall requesting her presence on the teaching staff at Hogwarts, Hermione had begun drafting detailed lesson plans for the entire school year, a thorough and well outlined schedule for each level class that Ancient Runes offered. What she felt unprepared for were the people, as well as the school. She had not laid eyes on Hogwarts since the final battle, and the young witch feared that when she saw the school for the first time in over a year, all she would be able to think of would be something dreadful like Colin Creevey’s young, lifeless corpse. From what the newspapers had reported, a volunteer team had dedicated hundreds of hours to completely rebuilding the school and cleansing it of any reminders of Voldemort’s short-lived reign. But nothing could erase the images burned into Hermione’s memories.  
She gazed out the window of the Hogwarts Express, watching the scenery pass in a blur of color. She allowed herself an uncharacteristically lengthy allotment of time to simply zone out and get lost in thought, pondering the coming school year. After a while, however, Hermione finally forced herself to fish out an informational text on the application of Runes to modes of travel, flipping to her spot in the book. As if sensing that Hermione had at long last begun to be productive, the cabin door slid open.  
Glancing up, Hermione’s gaze fell on none other than Luna Lovegood. Gasping, she sputtered out, “L-Luna, whatever are you doing on the Hogwarts Express?”  
The blond girl smiled wistfully at something just over Hermione’s shoulder before she moved to take a seat on the bench opposite the bushy-haired witch. “I’m to be the astrology professor, as Professor Sinistra dropped dead halfway through this last school year.” Luna hummed a little tune that Hermione did not recognize.  
“I didn’t know you had an interest in astronomy.” Hermione blinked slowly, certain that this was some sort of fever dream. Then again, every interaction with Luna tended to feel like a fever dream of sorts. Hermione had been certain that she would be the only teacher in her age range, so this was turning into a rather pleasant surprise for her.  
“Oh, I suppose I could,” Luna responded vaguely, “Though Arithmancy is a more exhilarating subject. What are you teaching, Hermione?”  
“Ancient Runes,” she responded swiftly, a pinch of pride leaking into her tone. “Professor Vector was teaching it along with Arithmancy, as I’m sure you know, and she decided that she needed more free time, so Headmistress McGonagall asked me to take over Runes.”  
Luna resumed her humming, eyes drifting from Hermione to some point in the distance.  
“Er, Luna, do you happen to know if there are any other new teachers this year?”  
“I suppose Neville could count as a new teacher. He’s Professor Sprout’s assistant teacher. According to him, he’s studying to take over for her next year.” Luna smiled serenely, looking rather pleased with this particular piece of information.  
Hermione chewed this over, and a feeling of immense relief flooded her system all at once. She would not be as alone in this pursuit as she had thought. With Luna and Neville by her side, Hermione felt rather confident that the school year would be a resounding success. “You and Neville are rather close, aren’t you?”  
“It all depends on how you define close… Isn’t it rather odd how two people who’ve known each other for years often know very little about each other at all?” Luna’s eyes finally landed shrewdly on Hermione for the first time since she had opened the cabin door and wandered in.  
Hermione frowned in response to this statement, as it did not answer her question at all, and quite frankly, sounded like utter rubbish. She had met Ron and Harry when she was eleven, and the witch was certain that she knew all there was to know about both of them. Hermione concluded that Luna was simply saying gibberish as always, and she smiled softly. “What I meant was, aren’t the two of you good friends?”  
Luna blinked and responded, “Well certainly, we’ve been going out for eight months now.”  
The brunette witch almost laughed at the absurdity of the whole conversation but just barely managed to stop herself. With that, Hermione closed her book, put it back in her trunk, and spent the rest of the trip in an easy but confusing dialogue with Luna. By the time the train pulled into Hogsmeade, it felt like they’d only just begun speaking, and Hermione marveled at how the hours simply melted when confronted by a nice back and forth with Luna.  
She had changed a few minutes before the train arrived, and was now dressed in a fitted, flowing set of black robes that were almost styled like a muggle dress. It would have been a little too dressy for a normal school day, but Hermione thought it was quite fitting for the Opening Feast. Luna, on the other hand, had chosen an outfit composed of several different layers, boasting a bold display of clashing colors and paired with a hand-knit scarf. Hermione smiled sweetly at her Ravenclaw companion and the pair exited the train, just barely managing to grab one of the last carriages up to the school. Hermione noted with a tinge of grim humor that Luna and her could both see the Thestrals that pulled the carriages. She hadn’t known about their presence just a few years before.  
Walking up the stairs to the school brought to life an assortment of anxiety and excitement, buzzing around in the gut of Hermione’s stomach like a rowdy crowd of hyper children. Hogwarts itself was just as she recalled it to be before it was stained by the war. All of the towers had been resurrected, every stone meticulously set back into place. It was simultaneously horrifying and fascinating, like a serenely beautiful ghost of someone that you couldn’t remember the feeling of loving. The two professors - that was what she and Luna were now, how odd - passed by the gaggle of first years lined up outside the Great Hall, and Hermione felt the pit of nerves widen into a chasm. She had not been around this many people in so very long. It felt like her brain was being overstimulated, working hard just to keep up with the relatively mundane and normal events of the day. Romania had been spent like a very long summer vacation in the country. She spent every day with the same crew of fourteen other wizards, and the consistent routine, day in, day out, was naturally therapeutic. In comparison, walking through Hogwarts felt like getting her brain prodded and poked out for hours on end.  
Luna grabbed Hermione’s hand and held it very tightly just as they entered the Great Hall, and the brunette witch squeezed back without a second thought. Luna was like an anchor among the waves as Hermione’s ears were filled with the buzz of hundreds of students clambering to be heard from across tables. Hermione stayed grounded and calm as they approached the teacher’s table at the front of the room. After tugging her left sleeve down habitually, Hermione’s gaze finally lifted to the row of professors before her. Her eyes scanned the table, coming to a screeching halt at the very end. A familiar mop of platinum blond hair and piercing grey eyes sat at the far end of the table, and Hermione blinked twice as if to clear her vision.  
Draco Malfoy was a professor at Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter, done!  
> I would like to announce that this will be a 25 chapter installment; I have already outlined most of the story. A fair warning, I plan on skimming over the first couple months of the semester fairly quickly, since the bulk of the plot revolves around events that have to take place in November-December. Anyways, I hope everyone enjoyed!


	2. Magical Rashes and Mumps

Hermione’s step faltered and she stumbled forward, just barely saving herself from a tumble to the stone flooring. Her heart was beating at a rapid pace in her chest as Luna helped steady her. Had it been a trick of the light, a mirage? Muttering an apology to Luna, the pair continued to the head teacher’s table, taking a seat at the only two remaining seats. Hermione was staring at her black, simple flats, her cheeks flushed with heat. Of all the times for her to make a clumsy fool of herself, it had to be that day?  
A hand clapped her on her shoulder, the force of it being enough to knock her chair forward several inches. Hagrid’s face beamed down at her from behind his mat of wiry black hair. “Hermione! Blimey, I almost didn’t recognize yeh!” She thought distantly about how his giant hand dwarfed her shoulder.  
“I- oh, hello, Hagrid.” She smiled warmly up at him, feeling slightly caught off guard as she had not paid the least bit of attention to who she had sat down next to. “How have you been?”  
“Oh, I’ve been doin’ alright, finally got the ministry ter lift that nasty warrant on Beaky, so I reckon things’ve been goin’ pretty well.”  
“That’s wonderful, Hagrid.” The little witch absentmindedly fiddled with a lock of hair that had come loose from the braid she’d pulled it into earlier.  
“Aye, couldn’t be happier, ter tell the truth. How’ve you been?”  
“Oh, well, you know I spent the year out at the Romanian dragon reserve, which was fantastic. I wish you could have seen it, Hagrid.” Her eyes lit up as she launched into a description of what working at the sanctuary had been like, creating detailed profiles for each of the dragons she had managed and kept tabs on. The entire time, Hagrid sat in a state of rapt attention, making little sounds of awe and nodding along as she slipped into the dragonology jargon that she’d been immersed in for the past months. Hermione felt breathless and zealous, gesturing wildly and bouncing up and down in her seat on occasion. All too soon, McGonagall was rising from her chair and their conversation was cut short.  
“Welcome back to another year at Hogwarts! I’ll keep this short, because I can hear the growling of several stomachs. First and foremost, Filch has asked me to remind you that despite the new, allegedly more tame model, Fanged Frisbees are still very much a banned item. Next,” Hermione and Luna traded grins, a tidal wave of nostalgia passing between the girls, “I would like to introduce two new teachers.”  
Oh. Hermione felt her heart stop as a small moment of panic bubbled up in its stead. She had not considered that she would have to bear this admittedly small, but nevertheless nerve-wracking moment.  
“As many of you were already aware, Luna Lovegood will be serving as Professor of Astrology.” Luna rose from her chair briefly, offering an easy smile to the students. A few giggles splattered through the children, evidently some sort of inside joke about the odd way in which Luna had acquired her position on the staff. “In addition, we will be welcoming Hermione Granger as the new Ancient Runes Professor.”  
Hermione’s wooden chair scraped back a few inches as she stood on shaky legs, her fingers instinctually twisting at the hems of her sleeves. Almost forgetting herself, she produced a wobbly smile in a weak attempt to imitate Luna’s display before she promptly sat back down. McGonagall said a few other things, but Hermione’s fuzzy mind didn’t make out any of the words. She was staring at the bare table before her, still twisting the sleeves of her robes and struggling to find a coherent thought. After what seemed like an eternity, dishes of countless delicacies sprang into existence before her very eyes, breaking her from her trance. Letting out a breath, the young witch busied herself with preparing a plate of food. Puddings, roast ducklings, a small helping of potatoes because why not…?  
“Well this is quite lovely, isn’t it?” Inquired Luna on Hermione’s left.  
She dragged her gaze upwards, and in the process, she caught a fleeting glimpse of the boy she’d been trying to forget. “Luna… I thought you said that Neville was the only other professor.”  
“The only new professor, yes.” Luna’s light blue eyes gave Hermione a knowing look.  
“Oh, I see.” But she did not see. Furrowing her eyebrows together in frustration, Hermione took an angry bite of her steak and kidney pie, chewing with a vengeance. Luna said nothing, seeming content to leave her companion to seethe in silent protest.  
Finally, after mulling Luna’s words over and spitting them back out as if they’d been salted far too heavily, Hermione broke and interjected, “Oh, but Luna, that simply can’t be true.” To emphasize her point, the bushy-haired witch gestured towards the far end of the table with her fork.  
Luna raised a brow demurely. “Do tell.”  
She almost groaned in vexation, realizing that she would have to spell it out. “Well, what about Malfoy?”  
“Well, Draco’s very agreeable.” She responded with confidence, and now Hermione felt certain that Luna was dragging this whole affair out just to tease her.  
“Yes, yes, but why didn’t you mention him before?”  
“This is his second year teaching at Hogwarts. Daddy wrote several articles on him, you know. But I guess you didn’t get the news when you were on the continent.”  
Hermione blinked slowly, her brain working double-time to process this new piece of information, and all of the connotations behind it. Why on earth had Malfoy, of all people, chosen to return to the school of his own free will? Unless the ministry had forced him to as some sort of punishment, which quite frankly seemed to be the most likely case. But more importantly, Hermione simply couldn’t picture McGonagall allowing Malfoy to teach, for everyone’s sake. She could picture exactly the kind of terror that he would be to the students, a man menacing enough to rival even Snape.  
“Do- Do you know what he teaches?”  
“Potions. He’s also the interim Head of Slytherin because none of the other professors seem to desire the job.”  
How fitting. Hermione did recall hearing something about Horace Slughorn mysteriously dropping off the grid immediately after the final battle. There had been a number of rumors circulating, most of them theorizing wild stories about how he must have been killed by on-the-run Death Eaters. Whatever the case, he left Hogwarts with several roles to fill. Hermione frowned inwardly. She should have connected these dots long ago. The stress must have been affecting her far more than she realized.  
“Hermione, if you don’t mind me asking,” Luna paused, her lips twisting coyly, “Is there some reason that you’ve taken a particular interest in the affairs of Draco Malfoy?”  
The witch’s breath stuttered as she rushed out, “Not particularly, I was just a little confused.”  
“Of course,” replied Luna smoothly. With that, Luna resumed her meal and took to trading comments with Professor Trelawney on her other side.  
Hermione found her eyes wandering down the table, taking in the profiles of all her old professors. The absence of Dumbledore at the center of the table nipped at her heartstring briefly, but that was the reality of the post-war wizarding world. People who you knew and loved went missing from their seats at the table, and everyone else just did their best to ignore the gap. When her gaze landed on Malfoy, sitting across the room, he was already watching her coolly.  
She started, and was about to avert her gaze when he gave her a curt nod. Not a smile, or something weird like a wave hello. Just a polite tilt of the head. It meant everything and nothing all at once. She returned the gesture, brown eyes staring into grey eyes, before breaking eye contact and staring at almost anything besides him. That one glimpse had been enough to tell her that Malfoy no longer looked boyish, the war having chiseled out his features and sprinkling stubble across his jaw. It was a subtle but undeniable change. Malfoy had grown into a man, and he seemed to be making nonverbal peace treaties with Hermione Granger from across the Hogwarts teacher’s table. Hagrid struck up a conversation with her, and even as she discussed the many faults of the Chinese efforts at repopulating fireballs, her mind was stuck on that tiny, insignificant interaction. It played over and over on a loop, and she would pause the scene to analyze the dip of his head, memorizing the bridge of his nose and the color of his robes.  
As she walked to her new quarters that evening, Hermione smiled to herself.

September 6 marked the end of the first week of the school year. Hermione had stayed up all night on Monday, determined to memorize the face and name of each and every one of her students. Since Ancient Runes was an elective, and further, had a reputation for being particularly difficult, Hermione’s classes were small and filled with young witches and wizards who actually wanted to learn what they were being taught. It was gratifying and not at all similar to the required courses, like Herbology (she grimaced empathetically over the memories of Professor Sprout struggling to tame a class of third year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs). With the advantage of smaller classes, Hermione was easily able to engrave mini-profiles of each student within the crevices of her mind.  
They didn’t particularly notice nor care when she could call upon them by name on Tuesday, but she had swelled with pride anyhow.  
The rest of the week sped past in a rapid succession of classes, late-night study sessions with Luna, and rushed meals. Hermione had discovered that if she woke up with the sun, she could enjoy a long breakfast and escape the Great Hall long before students and professors began trickling in. To her surprise, it wasn’t even too bothersome to have to ignore the occasional whispers that broke out when she entered a room - a result of her war veteran celebrity.  
And now, it was just after midnight on Friday, September 6. The library was lit only by the flickering of a few solitary candles, illuminating the expansive stacks that Hogwarts boasted, the towering windows and the arching ceiling. Hermione stifled a yawn and reached for her mug of coffee without looking up from her book. When she lifted the rim to her lips, eyes still flickering across an essay on an American study on Rune work, nothing trickled into her mouth. The girl frowned, glaring down into the empty muggle mug. Bother.  
Hermione made to point her wand at the guilty cup, but Luna placed a gentle hand on her wrist. “You know, it always tastes so dreadful when you do it like that.”  
Hermione made a small grunt of agreement, and, still shooting lasers into the bottom of the mug, rose from her chair. The sleeves of her sweater fell until she couldn’t see her fingers anymore, and Hermione shoved the sleeve back up her forearm with a series of mutters and frowns. “Shall I refill yours too, then?”  
“That would be lovely.”  
Grabbing Luna’s goblet, Hermione turned to begin the winding journey out of the deepest depths of the school library. “I’ll be right back.”  
After one last, longing glance at the bookmarked page she had been taking notes on, Hermione picked her way to the kitchens. Certainly, the trip would not have been worth it if she was planning on turning in for the night in an hour or so. But both Luna and Hermione knew that they would still be working away in the early morning. Thus, the coffee run was very much a necessity. She slipped through the library doors, just barely propped open with one of Luna’s spare notepads. The hallways were deserted, bathed in enough moonlight to provide an eerie feeling.  
Hogwarts after dark. Digging her wand out of her back pocket and casting a quick lumos, Hermione made the trip to the kitchens without any trouble - unless catching a pair of girls, tucked into a corner and engaged in rather intimate acts, and then having to deduct house points from the pair, counted as trouble, in which case, yes, she had run into a fair bit of trouble. By the time she had clambered through the fruit painting, there was no shortage of gratitude for the hospitality of the house elves.  
“Miss Granger!” Came a voice from directly above.  
Starting, Hermione craned her neck upwards to find the wide eyes of Winky hovering just inches over her own. The girl visibly flinched and stepped away. “What on earth are you doing up there, Winky?” She frowned, eyeing the little elf’s precarious perch in some sort of cubby tucked into the ceiling.  
“Winky is sorting the shipment of flour and sugar that just came in!” Winky was dressed in her trademark flour sack dress, and Hermione noticed that the ceiling cubby was more of a large, poorly lit room hosting shelves upon shelves of non-perishable items. How peculiar, she thought, they’ve got their pantry up in the ceiling.  
“That looks rather dangerous.”  
“No, no, not dangerous, Winky is being very safe. Look!” She tapped her foot raptly against the precipice of the hole in the ceiling, and with that, the little elf floated safely down to the floor. The wonders of elvish magic. “Now, what can Winky be doing for Miss?”  
Hermione blinked once at the pantry before gesturing with the coffee cups. “I’ve come for a coffee refill.”  
Winky tutted, took the mug and goblet from Hermione’s grip, and magicked them off around the corner. “Miss should be catching up on sleep.”  
The bushy-haired witch smiled fondly at the petite elf. Winky had sobered up significantly over the past few years and was now fully functioning and settled into life at Hogwarts. “I’ll sleep tomorrow, promise.”  
Winky grumbled under her breath and handed over the now-full, steaming cups of black coffee. Hermione inhaled deeply through her nose, dragging the scent through her lungs like a drug. It was just what she needed. “Thanks so much, Winky, this is great.”  
The house elf bowed her head, a smile splayed across her lips. “Can Winky be doing anything else for Miss Granger?”  
“A bit of cinnamon and sugar, for the one in the goblet?”  
A snap of the fingers later, and Hermione was being shooed out of the kitchens. “Goodnight, Miss Granger, and do be remembering that you needs only call Winky’s name if you want anything.”  
The painting door swung shut behind her as the realization that this whole trip had been unnecessary dawned on her. Damn. Why hadn’t she thought to call for Winky instead of trundling across the entire castle like an oaf?  
Begrudgingly, the witch trudged back across the castle, vaguely finding herself in some sort of attempt to manifest the ability to apparate on the grounds.  
Back within the comforting presence of high ceilings and the scent of old books, Hermione dispelled her lumos and squinted to make out her surroundings in the dim candlelight. Madame Pince had long since abandoned her post for the night, but not before making Luna and Hermione swear to be on their best behavior. It was technically past curfew for students and teachers alike, though Luna had heavily implied that curfew was never enforced with the staff.  
She took slow, careful paces towards the back of the room so as not to spill the drinks. Rounding the corner, Hermione called in a sing-song voice, “Lunaaa, I come bearing gifts and good tidings!”  
Brown eyes flickered across their regular desk, covered in an assortment of quills and tomes and scraps of parchment. Luna, however, was missing.  
Brows furrowed, Hermione glanced around before shrugging and taking a seat. Luna was probably retrieving a book from somewhere else in the library. The witch took a small sip of her coffee, bending over her book in contentment. The library was absolutely silent, save for the occasional sound of her pen jotting down hurried notes in a chicken scratch handwriting. Distractedly, Hermione kicked off her trainers (thank God for muggle fuzzy socks) and pulled her hair into a practical bun.  
A Study in Controlled Deviations of Runic Lettering was surprisingly enlightening. As it turned out, the focus team of witches and wizards in America had attempted to track the results of adding slight modifications to standard runic characters, which sounded wildly dangerous and reckless to Hermione. But evidently, the Americans knew what they were doing, as their results seemed overwhelmingly positive. The page blurred slightly before her, and she scrubbed at her eyes impatiently before resuming. Hermione’s nose was practically touching the page as she struggled not to go cross-eyed from exhaustion. She was just getting to the good part, a discovery about the application of an extra twist to the tail of the runic number four, which gave it extra strengthening properties. But why did it have that effect, that was what-  
The sound of a distinct thump came from the West side of the library, followed by a muffled string of words and more thumps. Hermione jerked upright, eyes wide and breath caught in her throat. How long had she been sitting there? It must have been at least an hour since she’d returned with the coffees. Where was Luna? Had her companion simply turned in for bed and forgotten to notify Hermione?  
More importantly: Who was in the library at two in the morning?  
Glancing around with fervor, Hermione silently rose from her chair and began slinking down the aisles. Luna had no reason to be in the West end of the library, because Luna had been researching trigonometry, and the maths and Arithmancy section was right next to their table.  
The young witch struggled to control her breaths, socked feet padding forward without making a sound. It was probably just a sleep-deprived Ravenclaw. Or, more likely, she had imagined the sound. As she approached the far end of the library, Hermione vaguely remembered to cast a few wandless disillusionment and notice-me-not charms.  
She peered around the corner of one bookshelf. Nothing there. She tip-toed past half a dozen more shelves, and still, no one to be seen, and no more suspicious sounds. It must have truly been a figment of her imagination.  
Tugging at her sleeves, the girl peaked into the last aisle with trepidation.  
A cloaked figure stood in front of the door to the restricted section, illuminated in a ghostly halo of moonlight.  
Hermione forgot how to breathe for a moment. She knew, she knew that this was definitely just a stray Ravenclaw as she had suspected, she knew that the cloak couldn’t possibly be shielding the face of a grinning Bellatrix Lestrange or a shifting Death Eater. Of course she knew that, most of them were either dead or locked away in Azkaban. But the cloaked intruder was too tall to be a student, their shoulders too broad… And how could a student have gotten their hands on the keys to the restricted section?  
She should say something. She should… Her feet were rooted to the ground, breath frozen in her lungs. The figure was cursing under its breath, jamming first one key and then another into the lock with no success. This was not a student. She released her concealment charms without a word.  
Hermione shivered and clutched her left forearm in a vice-like grip before stepping into the aisle. Where was Luna when she needed her?  
“Do you need help?” Her wand was in her hand. When had it gotten there?  
The figure turned, and Hermione squinted to make out their features in the darkness.  
“For fuck’s sake Granger, what are you doing up at this hour?” It was a deep, tired voice. And she recognized it.  
Hermione visibly deflated, the tension draining from her muscles. “Oh thank God, it’s only you.” Her wand returned to her back pocket with shaking fingers.  
Malfoy scoffed and the witch registered what he had said to her. “And isn’t this a bit of the kettle calling the cauldron black?” She bristled.  
“That a muggle saying?”  
The girl faltered. She could feel his eyes on her, even if she couldn’t see him. “I- it doesn’t matter.” Now that she thought about it, Malfoy was the last person that she wanted to be around right now. And why was he sneaking around the castle in the middle of the night?  
They were standing about ten feet apart, and the only thing lighting the room was the moonlight streaming in from behind Malfoy. If someone had stumbled upon this scene, it would look quite a bit like a showdown. Who would back away first? Certainly not Hermione, as she was far too curious (and suspicious) about what Malfoy wanted from the restricted section. On the other hand, Malfoy seemed rather anxious to have her out of his hair with as much speed as possible, and she couldn’t help agreeing that she should just leave while she had the chance.  
The hooded wizard folded his arms lazily and drawled, “In any situation, I do not require your assistance. Better run along now, Granger.”  
Hermione cursed her own Gryffindor stupidity, knowing that she couldn’t leave Malfoy unattended like this. She jutted her chin out defiantly, a show of false bravado. She was shaking on the inside. “Don’t be rude. I need a book from the restricted section.”  
Striding forward, the girl came to a stop right in front of the him. She could make out the contour of his face now, cast in shadow and an air of annoyance.  
Malfoy froze for half a second, as if he hadn’t anticipated this response. Or perhaps, and Hermione thought this was far more likely, he was doing things in the restricted section that he did not want anyone else to be seeing. She narrowed her eyes at him.  
“Whatever you say.” He huffed and swiveled back to the stubborn keyhole, jamming yet another key in. It was the wrong key, again.  
“Oh, let me do it.” Hermione nudged his hands away and twisted the correct key into the handle. With a quiet click, the door swung open.  
Malfoy glared daggers into the guilty-looking set of keys. “Could have sworn I already tried that one.”  
He strode into the room, robes flaring out behind him, and Hermione tracked behind him like a shadow. They had not spoken in over a year now, had not laid eyes on each other in a year. The last thing she remembered of Malfoy was watching his face when Neville had killed Nagini. Hermione didn’t know why she had been watching the Slytherin boy instead of the Sword of Gryffindor. Her eyes had simply been drawn there, catching the look of conflicted relief cross Malfoy’s face when the snake died. And before the Battle… There was Malfoy Manor, and Bellatrix, and a scar that still ached. Malfoy standing to the side, doing nothing to save them but nothing to condemn them either. The witch shuddered and turned to face a random bookshelf before Malfoy could realize that she didn’t actually need anything from here. It occurred to Hermione that he could murder her right now, and nobody would realize that she was even missing until tomorrow afternoon, at the earliest. There were no classes tomorrow, no one to notice her absence…  
Hermione shook her head. She was being foolish. From the corner of her eye, Hermione watched him hesitate and glance in her direction. Suspicious. After a moment of indecision, Malfoy seemed to come to a conclusion and rushed towards the back of the room. Before Hermione could register much more, he was already in the doorway, waiting for her to finish and tucking two thin books into his bag. Cursing under her breath, she pulled a book at random and swept past him haughtily. She would come back tomorrow to see what section he had taken from. The door locked on its own behind them.  
Side by side, the pair zigzagged out of the maze of shelves and towards the entrance to the library in tense silence. Hermione tucked a strand of flyaway hair behind her ear nervously, then moved her fingers to her sweater to pick at a piece of lint. She felt grossly underdressed compared to his elegant black robes. Dimly, Hermione realized that she wasn’t even wearing proper shoes, just a pair of socks with a silly pattern printed on them.  
A thought occurred to the witch. “Malfoy, did you see Luna on your way in? She ran off somewhere an hour or two ago.”  
He removed his hood just as they reached the open, expansive center of the library. Hermione’s eyes instinctively followed the motion, landing on the image of his side profile as he stepped in and out of beams of moonlight. His lips were moving, and his cheekbone caught the white light of the moon. Silvery hair fell in loose, deviant locks across his forehead and playfully brushed the nape of his collar. A Slytherin green tie had been loosened to the point where it seemed like it might come undone, and the sleeves of his oxford shirt were pushed up to his biceps. His- his lips were moving. Wait.  
Hermione’s brows furrowed and she muttered a quick, “Sorry, were you saying something?”  
He shot her a look through narrowed eyes, like he thought she was poking fun at him. Someone must have cast a muffliato over him or something, because she had completely missed whatever his answer had been.  
“I said, Luna passed by me on my way here from my quarters. She seemed to know where I was going, because she said to tell you that ‘she’d sensed a nest of nargles nearby and was going to clear the air.’ Or something along those lines.” He raised a dubious eyebrow, his eyes scanning the witch’s face analytically.  
“Oh. That sounds like her.”  
They had come to a halt near the library doors, facing one another. This seemed like the appropriate time to exchange a few parting words. Hermione didn’t want to say goodbye, though. She wanted to find a reason, any reason, to be mad at Malfoy, to yell at him. She needed evidence that his little late night foray into the restricted section was just as nefarious as she thought. Why was he being so damn polite? She shifted uncomfortably, eyes glued to her feet in a firm refusal to look him in the eye. He was staring at her, she could feel his eyes.  
“Tell me Granger, what are your plans for the Encyclopedia of Magical Rashes and Mumps?” The words were lazy, and he sounded distinctly amused.  
Hermione frowned in confusion before glancing at the spine of the book in her hands. Damn it all, why was this book even in the restricted aisle?  
“Uh- I, er-“ She fumbled with the book and looked at anything other than him. Her fingers were shaking. “I mean, one of my students had this question about her toad, so I, er. Thought this could help.”  
Her cheeks burned. What a shit lie. Of all the fucking books, of course she had to choose this one. Hermione glanced shiftily towards the library door, wishing Luna would walk in and save her from this embarrassment.  
“Of course. Which student?” He was smirking. She fumed, the damn man was actually enjoying watching her struggle.  
“Well that’s none of your business, now is it?” She snapped.  
He took a step towards her, peering down and directly into her eyes. “No, I suppose it isn’t.” A beat passed, and Hermione held her breath. They were far too close, there wasn’t enough air for the both of them. “Goodnight, Professor Granger.”  
With that, he swept away.


End file.
